


in simpatico

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bonding, Celebrations, Established Relationship, F/F, First Meetings, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Aphra leaned in close, her mouth brushing Sana’s ear. The soft caress sent a shiver down Sana’s spine, embarrassing given how often Aphra did just that. They’d gotten older somewhere along the way and still Sana felt the same love, hate, frustration, and fear that she always did when it came to Aphra and the power she wielded over Sana’s heart. As far as Sana could tell, Aphra remained every bit as untroubled as ever, floating through their relationship like she never had a concern in the world. “It’s been five years since the defeat of the First Order. The occasion deserves some respect and I for one intend to respect the hell out of it.”“You intend to drink General Organa’s liquor and case the joint,” Sana retorted, maybe being a little,very little, infinitesimallyunfair about it. Sometimes, Aphra felt a genuine call to do the responsible, right, moral thing.Then Aphra shrugged and her mouth twisted up thoughtfully. “Well, yeah.”





	in simpatico

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weakinteraction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/gifts).



Sana stared out across the large ballroom around her. Crowded with people and candledroids _and_ camdroids _and_ waitdroids—there were, she estimated, a lot of droids, and that left off the heroic droids of the Resistance fight, who also dotted the place—she didn’t exactly fidget, having been a fully grown woman for a long enough time to know better, but a small part of her wanted to. She was a smuggler, reformed, whatever that meant, she didn’t belong in a place like this.

Aphra elbowed her in the side. “You could at least act like you’re not dreading this,” she said in a harsh, low whisper, the kind she only used when she caught Sana behaving poorly, which was almost never. If anyone was the troublemaker in this relationship, it was Aphra. Aphra who, admittedly, looked stunning in the flowing shimmersilk dress she’d chosen, a pale, pearl gray that contrasted nicely with the crisp, unrelenting lines of the tattoos that wound precisely around her arms down to her wrists. Sana wouldn’t admit as much, not under threat of pain or death, but that would make tonight worth it all on its own.

Aphra so rarely dressed up for anything.

“Last I checked,” Sana replied, neither as harsh, nor as low as Aphra, “I can do what I want.”

Aphra huffed and wound her arm through Sana’s, using her superior drive to yank Sana forward into the fray.

“In fact, I’m not sure why you’re so interested in being here,” Sana continued. “Since when do you care about Resistance soirées?”

Aphra leaned in close, her mouth brushing Sana’s ear. The soft caress sent a shiver down Sana’s spine, embarrassing given how often Aphra did just that. They’d gotten older somewhere along the way and still Sana felt the same love, hate, frustration, and fear that she always did when it came to Aphra and the power she wielded over Sana’s heart. As far as Sana could tell, Aphra remained every bit as untroubled as ever, floating through their relationship like she never had a concern in the world. “It’s been five years since the defeat of the First Order. The occasion deserves some respect and I for one intend to respect the hell out of it.”

“You intend to drink General Organa’s liquor and case the joint,” Sana retorted, maybe being a little, _very little, infinitesimally_ unfair about it. Sometimes, Aphra felt a genuine call to do the responsible, right, moral thing.

Then Aphra shrugged and her mouth twisted up thoughtfully. “Well, yeah.”

“You disgust me,” Sana said, rolling her eyes, a laugh taking most of the sting out of her words.

Aphra waggled her eyebrows. “You love it.”

Squeezing Aphra’s hand between her own, she said, toneless, “I really don’t.”

Aphra merely laughed in turn. This was why they worked, Sana thought. No one else would put up with the other’s bullshit the way they did. It might’ve taken years and broken hearts, but they’d scrambled and fought and hurt one another for this ease, this understanding. And Sana couldn’t rightly say it wasn’t worth it. For all the crap they’ve been through, every bit of it _was_ worth it.

“You love it,” another voice said, male and far more amused than even Aphra’s voice had been just a moment ago, which was quite the accomplishment. It was a pleasant enough voice, but if the answering hum of disapproval was any indication, its intended recipient wasn’t having any of it. Sana turned to look, wondering just who might be trying to cajole their partner the way Aphra did. Maybe Sana could learn a thing or two. Stopping Aphra from getting her way was half the fun.

The men in question happened to be Poe Dameron of the New Republic Navy, hero and poster child of the Resistance, and perhaps the most sour looking man Sana had ever seen and his exact, polar opposite. Thin lips twisted in a sneer, he very obviously did not want to be here. From the hint of tension around Dameron’s eyes, he didn’t particularly want to be here either. For a moment, Sana didn’t get why, but she was curious enough that, when Aphra tugged at her and told her to get moving, champagne waited for no dilettante, she shushed her and held her ground. After another moment, it was reasonably clear. Everybody—or nearly everybody—stared at the pair of them as Poe pushed them both toward the same destination Aphra so dearly wanted to reach, too.

“They’ll drink it all first,” Aphra said in a stage whisper. “I know the look.”

Sana had no idea who the older guy was, but Poe Dameron was a sneep scout, a good man through and through. He probably wouldn’t drink more than one flute out of politeness, even with the glances coming his way that ranged from intrigued to downright unhappy. “ You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” She yanked again on Sana’s arm. “Doesn’t make me wrong.”

“Doesn’t make you right either.” But Sana allowed herself to be led. She hadn’t kept up with Resistance gossip, not officially anyway, not even while the war was still on. Occasionally, she and Aphra did Leia favors, personal, private, off-the-books. Han’s death—and oh, that still sent a sharp slice of pain through her—left an unfilled niche in Leia’s organization. Sana and Aphra had taken it upon themselves to fill it when need be. It was, they’d both decided, the least they could do. “But sure, let’s go fight to the death over some overpriced bubbly drink. That sounds fun.”

“Doesn’t it?” Aphra chirped.

They didn’t quite have to push their way toward the tables in the back, but it was a near thing. Everyone, it seemed, had come out to celebrate this occasion. It wasn’t that crowds made Sana feel cagey, but the warm, humid press of people did make her twitch a little. Without her weapons, without comfortable shoes, what hope did she have of fighting if it became necessary? They might’ve been past that now—the New Republic government certainly liked to think so—but Sana never quite lost that edge that suggested danger was just around the corner. Even after all of these years of relative safety.

Once they reached their destination, Aphra plucked up two glasses and kindly handed one to Sana, at which point she proceeded to pick up a third while quickly downing her first. Sighing, she smiled. “Not bad.”

Sana’s attention drifted, surreptitious, to the pair on the other side of the table. They’d both relaxed a bit from when Sana had first seen them, the older man allowing himself the briefest, bitterest of smiles, but a smile nonetheless. He drank deeply from his glass of champagne and said something too quietly for Sana to hear, but became clear soon enough when Dameron’s attention flicked her way. A flush of embarrassment worked through her at having been caught and was compounded when Dameron raised his hand in a wave of acknowledgment. Save her from parties; she clearly had no business being at one.

Stepping around the table, she stretched her hand in greeting, pasting a smile on her face and going for it. “Hi, there,” she said. Confidence was key. Pretend like she’d meant to do that instead of proving herself every bit as nosy as the people who surrounded them. Aphra trailed after her, keeping her mouth shut for once. “Sana Starros. I’ve heard a lot about you from General Organa. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

So much bullshit falling from her lips. She had no real interest in meeting Dameron, though now some of Leia’s comments made sense. He was every inch the flyboy. The posters didn’t do him justice either. You didn’t have to talk to him to know he was a kind, courageous, genuine man.

He smiled and managed to seem pleased by the disruption. The man at his side, though, only scowled harder. This close, Sana could see a web of scars latticing across the side of his face, marring a silver tattoo at his temple. The wound looked long healed, but did nothing to make him appear more approachable. They were as mismatched a pair as Sana had ever seen; she couldn’t decide if it made Dameron more interesting or not. 

“The General has spoken of you highly, too,” Dameron replied. He nodded toward Aphra. “And you, as well, Doctor Aphra. It’s an honor.” His head tilted slightly in the older man’s direction. “This is Terex. Don’t mind him.”

“Charmed,” the man, Terex apparently, said, sounding not even a little bit charmed. His voice had a rough edge to it, muted by what sounded like an old Imperial accent. It was the same for so many Mid- and Outer Rim folks of a certain age. It made her wonder what his particular damage was, where exactly the chip on his shoulder sat and how big it was.

“I very much doubt Leia has anything good to say about me,” Aphra replied. And yet, her eyes twinkled with delight. Sana considered calling her on it and then thought better of it. If Aphra wanted to have a bit of fun at Dameron’s expense, that was her prerogative. Surely, Dameron could protect himself. And if not, he had Terex to step in for him. “But I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.”

Dameron’s lips tipped up in an awkward smile, the universal signal that he’d run out of things to say and wasn’t sure how to extricate himself. That, more than anything, was _Sana’s_ cue to step in. But Aphra was too quick for all of them. “Terex, Terex. I think I’ve heard of you.”

“I highly doubt that,” he answered, his voice placid in the same way a raging river that has iced over for the winter was placid. “But I know plenty about you.”

Aphra grinned, sharp enough to cut. “Stormtrooper found his way out of the little leagues. I’m impressed.”

Terex’s eyebrow lifted as Dameron’s hand reached out to wrap around his wrist. “Pretend archaeologist came down in the galaxy. I’m afraid I can’t say the same.”

“Now wait just a—” Sana said as Dameron shook his head in disappointment or worry or any of the other emotions he should’ve been feeling knowing his boyfriend—at least, that was what Sana presumed—was stirring up trouble that both Sana and Aphra were more than capable of ending. And they all knew it.

But much to Sana’s surprise, Aphra merely laughed. And not the laugh of someone who was mere moments away from raining down hell and looking forward to it. No, it was the laugh of someone who’d found common ground with another person. Stars help them all that this was who Aphra chose to laugh at in this particular way. She reached out, startling even him with the intent to shake his hand. Chipper, she said, “I think we’ll get along just fine, former Agent Terex.”

Slow, a bit bewildered, he took her hand in turn and muttered something about it being a possibility. Behind him, Dameron pinched the bridge of his nose, an action Sana could sympathize with. She wanted very much to do the same thing. “Maybe we should leave them in peace to start their own mutual appreciation society,” she said to Dameron.

“Yeah,” he answered, weak, “that sounds like a bad idea, but I definitely don’t have a better one.”

If either of them paid Dameron or her any mind, they didn’t show it, already discussing heady, important topics, like which bits of stormtrooper armor were the best to go for in a fight and where Captain Phasma got the chrome for her armor, Aphra just bet it was from one of Palpatine’s Nabooian yachts. Groaning, Dameron took a step away, stretching toward the table for a fresh glass of champagne. Number two for the night. Of course it was Aphra who’d driven him to it. Sana offered her sympathy in the only way she could, by raising her own glass in an ironic toast.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a long night,” she said, for his ears alone.

“Yep,” he replied, already resigning himself to his fate. Smart man. “Looks like.”

In synchrony, they both drank from the glasses they held, no doubt contemplating their own doom at the hands of their significant others.

“Leave it to Aphra,” she said.

“Oh, no. Leave it to Terex,” Poe replied.

“Yeah,” they both said as one. “Yeah.”

It was definitely going to be a long night.


End file.
